


Better Not To Know

by Ayngelcat



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another fic about Hook and First Aid's failed sparkbond and seperation before the war.</p><p>Written for tf_speedwriting. Prompt: Scenario - trying to find old friends and enemies (like running a Google search on high school names or an ex.)</p><p>This is set soon after the Constructicons have been ‘built in the caverns’ and onlined on Earth. At the start of ‘Heavy Metal War.’ And it’s kind of a prelude to the fic I am writing for robotbigbang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Not To Know

“Here …” Rumble glanced around, then slipped Hook the piece of paper. “One, you owe me. Two, if you get caught, I don’t know nothin' a fraggin’ bout it. Got it?”

Hook did not bother to respond. Snatching the paper, he glanced at the codes before scrunching it into his hand. A faint crooked smile crossed his angular face before he turned his back on the cassette and headed for the data room, ignoring Rumble’s very audible remark of ‘rude fragger!’

Passing the main lab. Hook was pleased to note that the other Constructicons were all busy with the power converter, the one which - if it worked - would give Megatron the powers of all the other Decepticons. And of course, it would work. Hook allowed himself a moment of self admiration. He still had it, when it came to designing contraptions.

Although, of course, Scrapper’s input must not be forgotten. Or the others.

Hearing a familiar booming metallic monotone, Hook noted that Soundwave was busy with the thing as well. Perfect! No having to check out where the communications officer was before he used his special console to access the Universal Web. Proceeding to the mech’s office, he punched in the coordinates from the paper and slipped inside.

.............

This ’sneaking around’ was ridiculous, Hook thought as he entered the password. He had hoped to get intragalactic access through the intraplanetary internet, but the indigenous inhabitants of this stupid world hadn’t even figured that out, let alone anything grander. And individual access was too much to hope for - Megatron not having dropped his ‘thing’ about Decepticons surfing the web, his outmoded belief that it made Decepticons lazy, removing the motivation to focus solely on the glorious Cause.

A load of bunkum, Hook thought as the search page came into view. It was so obviously a way to keep the Decepticons isolated from the rest of the universe, lest the discovery of more compelling pursuits should tempt them from his services.

_Fine reward for our loyalty. Especially after our sparks being stuck in a box for millennia._

Hook would get the Constructicons their own access, he decided. Somehow. Maybe he’d educate the humans. How else was he to learn of new medical revelations which would benefit the Decepticons? For now, however, he had to be content with this situation and limited time. It was fortunate that he was not in the mood for web surfing. In fact, he was really after only one piece of info; well, info on one mech.

Hook hesitated. He had a final glance around. Then punched in:

Medic.Cybertron.First Aid.

Sitting back with his chin in his hand, he awaited the results.

..............

Seconds later, a familiar pert red and white form with piercing blue optics appeared on the screen.

Hook started. He had not expected to see _that_ straight away. He could not tear his optics away, however. The picture was recent, but the medic looked just as he had millions of years ago, when he was Hook’s intern.

Hook’s spark burned momentarily. Then, he scowled. Did First Aid have to look so darned good? And worse, so infernally happy, so full of the joys of whatever life was bringing him? So evidently fulfilled by all it had dished out for the last few million years – whilst Hook’s spark was stuck in a crashed spaceship in a backwater of the universe?

And apart from anything else, it was lax, security wise, for First Aid to flaunt himself like this on his homepage! Hook did not want to look at such flagrant irresponsibility; although, he thought, he could have expected nothing less. First Aid always was determined to be _right there,_ to advertise his availability, his endless dedication to the weak and infirm. Angrily, Hook scrolled down.

Soon, he was assaulted by more infuriating data. For there was First Aid’s history, the stint at Kaon, the declaration that he could possibly not support a civil war, that he must leave his beloved Cybertron, much as this pained him to do so. Then there was the departure, the promise to return when there was peace, the conviction that by this ‘statement’ he served the greater good. It all was surrounded by a vista of admiration and understanding.

Hook’s fists tightened into balls. _Hypocrite!_ he muttered. The greater good! How could you proclaim yourself a do-gooder of the highest order and then not fix the injured just because they happened to have gotten that way in a war? And he, Hook was the one who’d been chastised for joining the Cons. At least he had the courage of his convictions.

Worse, although Hook scrolled up and down several times, he could find no mention of himself, anywhere. The ungrateful glitch! How many cycles had Hook devoted to teaching First Aid the arts of cybo-surgery, to moulding his inept fingers into the skilled ones of a technician? And all the while listening to a repertoire about psychological claptrap, nonsense about the union of body and mind in healing, lectures about the horrors of war?

And there was even worse; for First Aid, it seemed, had blossomed in his career after leaving Cybertron. Far and wide he had worked, restoring life and health and happiness, a few hundred vorns here, a few thousand there, healing, helping, mending, selflessly giving, ever an advocate of peace and goodwill. He had even held a political post in another quadrant for some fifty thousand years, hailed as ‘the greatest peacemaker the world had ever known.’

Below, were more images. “Those who have helped me on my path” Hook read. A gallery of mechs, Cybertronian and alien, and earnest organic faces peered out. A few were familiar. Groove, the nurse at Kaon. That surly old bastard, Ratchet. Yet nowhere was there a picture of himself, or any indication that he, Hook, had ever existed in First Aids life at all.

Hook’s spark burned and lubricant pricked his optics. “Oh you forgot real quick, didn’t you,” he said bitterly. “Well I don't supposed you're even interested that you were the first thing I thought of when I came online, even before Scrapper!”

His optic caught two more images. One was of a smiling red and white mech, a rescue type of sorts; the other a rotary, splendid in green. “Hotspot” and “Flurry” they evidently were. In each photo, First Aid posed, entwined with the other in a way which could only mean one thing. “Always in my spark, and I in theirs!” said the caption.

Hook brought his fist down on the ledge beside the screen with a loud crash.

...........

“I could have told you it was better not to know.”

For the second time, Hook started. He had not heard Scrapper come in. Now, his gestalt partner perched on the stool beside him. His face wore a reproachful look. But kindly.

Hook turned back to stare blankly at the screen. “How did you know I was here?”

“I could sense your distress,” Scrapper said. “And I knew when you had the row with Megatron about the web it was mainly about this. I knew you’d be straight in front of the only available screen at the first opportunity.”

Hook snorted. But there was no point in lying to Scrapper. He glanced at the screen. “He's just lucky _he’s_ not here,” he muttered. “Because if he was, I’d soon wipe the smile off his smug little talented, peacemaking, always-in-their-sparks face.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

Hook shuttered his optics, as a cavalcade of memories invaded his mind, almost too painful to bear. He forced them away, comforted by the feel of Scrapper's hand on his arm.

He sighed. “No, I probably wouldn’t. But why – why is it just like I never existed, Scrapper?”

“Perhaps it was easier for him to deal with the broken bond that way. Did you think of that?”

Hook looked at the screen one more time – and could stand it no longer. He flicked off the power. “It sucks!” he said.

“I know!” Scrapper got up. “But in the meantime, we have work to do if we are to avoid another stint in that sparkbox – maybe permanently this time. Besides …” he smiled firmly. “Your team worship the ground you walk on. As it happens. Doesn’t that count for just a little?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Hook got up. “It will be OK. I just need – a distraction. Or something.”

“Well!” Scrapper leaned across and kissed his cheek. His lips lingered. “We’ll just have to find you one. Won’t we?”

The Constructicon leader would regret those words.


End file.
